


Sleep My King, to The Song I Sing to You

by ColortheNightBlack



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Aragorn - Freeform, BrokenThranduil, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friendship, Gen, Haldir - Freeform, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Male Slash, Parent-Child Relationship, Physical Abuse, Protective Legolas, Rape Recovery, Recovery, Rescue, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-30 22:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3954109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColortheNightBlack/pseuds/ColortheNightBlack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thranduil is taken down by a pack of Orcs, he is taken to Angband to be the newest participant in the never ending mission to create an always stronger and smarter Uruk-Hai. And as the king waits and hopes for help, his will is slowly broken and his mind shattered by endless torture and abuse, his soul damaged and scarred. </p><p>As his father falls into darkness, the prince of the woodland realm feels something amiss in Mirkwood and when news is sent that his father has been taken, he soon returns home, with Aragon in tow. The two quickly set out to rescue Mirkwood’s king, enlisting the help of Gandalf along the way, knowing they will need the wizard’s power and knowledge.</p><p>When Legolas and the others finally reach Thranduil, will there be anything left to save? Will the woodland elves get their beloved king back, will Legolas get his father back? Or an elf self-sentenced to death from a broken will and heart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fateful Musings

**Author's Note:**

> First off, please forgive any missed grammar and spelling. It is late and I am exhausted and have read this chapter a thousand times.  
> Also, this is set three years after The Hobbit, gives me room to play. :B
> 
>  
> 
> NOW! That's out of the way, this is a story I suddenly got the urge to do, so I wrote out a snip-it and then it just took off. After watching all the Hobbits and getting all kinds of feels and inspiration on Thranduil (and I lOVE Haldir almost as much as Thranduil, so he wiggled into this fic to lol ) it came out as this. xD Hope you like it! :)

It was late, the elven people too prone to wondering at night. The quite stillness in the air and ever so soft breeze carried the sound of the lightly dozing oaks and willows far. They cooed a melody throughout his kingdom, a honey sweet sound that managed to take away the elves razor edge, that unfriendly and mistrustful attitude toward all others that were not of their sacred blood. However the trees seemed to since how weary it made the Greenwood people, so every night they sang to the wood folk. Their forests were now calm and quiet once again, peace and complete peace had been returned upon the occupied areas of the wood. The spiders had been driven out and back into the mountains and all other manor of vile, evil things had been vanquished. Because of this they had managed to retake some of their old home, the forgotten woodlands reclaimed and flourishing once again, and not only the sweet forest, but also Thranduil’s people. None were foolish enough to risk an attack on Mirkwood now-it would be a fool’s errand and a deadly one at that. 

 

Even before, three years earlier, when the pack of Orcs had slipped into Mirkwood lands…. to follow and kill the Dwarfs, they had been easily dealt with. The ones that had followed hopelessly after the mountain diggers would have met the same fate as the rest of their group should they have stayed. Now, these three short years after the Orcs, the Dwarfs, man, and the battle….few dared to tread the woods. The Mirkwood Elves were sharp witted, their mind a dangerous thing to try and toy with. It would pull you in and destroy you, the brains of those beautiful creatures to treacherous to risk curiosity. However their skills of battle were blood chillingly keener, unrelenting and a death wish upon any who dare pass wrongly across them and then try to sneak by unnoticed. 

 

The king smiled softly at these thoughts, they had fought hard and had finally won the peace he wished for his people. As he continued to think, Thranduil walked soundlessly through the trees, breathing in deep the smell of heavy, wet earth, the earlier storm having blessed his beloved forest with much needed drink. His feet chilled ever so softly at the soaking, spongey moss that squished under his toes, the water clear and cool as it ran under and over his bare feet as his weight left the barest footprints after him. The blinking stars, like the brightest and kindest eyes stared down at him, watching him closely as if to make sure the wise elf didn’t wonder to far from home. No clouds were in the sky this night and the full moon painted the gentle king in its pale color, shading his almost silver blond hair a silken white. Then, when the wind rustled again, the finest drops of rain that had been stowing away on the leaves and on the liquid soaked branches and thick, twisting vines fell, dropping around and on him, however Thranduil himself didn’t blink at chilly disturbance. Instead his shining blue eyes glowed softly and remained half lidded, a gentleness there that had not existed years earlier. Lessons from his most treasured and beloved elf, Legolas, shone through in his sharp blue eyes now. The rain droplets misted around him, so fine and frail they were, and in that instant the Mirkwood king looked like purity, innocence in living form, despite his sins of the past. 

 

The ghost like elf continued his walk, his mind restless this evening, thoughts racing through it like the rapids of the Mirkwood River. He walked without weapon or guards, not wishing to have company on his midnight stroll. He wondered idly about his child, sweet and beautiful, and more over what he may be doing right now. Legolas had always been more privy to the night, enjoying in it in the same way his father did. Thranduil let a bitter sweet smile cross his lips. Legolas had visited home many times since he left, with Strider in tow each time. The human was one the king took pleasure in. He was so unlike the rest of man, the human was humble and intelligent beyond words. He was keen to elven culture and ways and learned them quickly and proudly, Strider was, in Thranduil’s mind, a human worthy of not only his trust, but his peoples. His son had taken to the mortal man quickly and the two got on very well, so much alike yet so different that they fit together like an intricate lock and key. They were a joy to watch together and it warmed Thranduil’s heart in a way that nothing but his son alone had been able to do.

 

Thranduil continued his trek, his movements soundless as he walked weightlessly on the splendid earth beneath him. Night birds flew around him, singing and talking, and the great king smiled when his ears heard the familiar sound of hooves not far off. Going down a narrow path only an elf could walk, Thranduil’s smile grew when he saw an elk, tall and strong, grazing in an open area where the sun hit broadly at day and grass grew high. It rose its head in curiosity when the king whistled lowly, the animal forgetting its food and walking over to the woodland elf. The king chuckled when the beast pushed its head gently into his chest, long tall antlers encircling him. Thranduil pet the elk, its fur a soft tan inside of the normal dark brown of its kind. The beast had been born two years ago and the elven king had decided to take it and train it as his new steed since the fall of his old elk in the battle at the mountain hall. The animal, like all others, was gentle and wise, more prone to taking the company of elves over the brutality of man and stupidity of Dwarfs.

 

Dwarfs……..

 

He had shed no sorrow at the death of Thorin, the Dwarf had meant nothing to him, nor the others in his company. Man had proven reliable that day, however their easily swayed motives and weaknesses never failed to deter him from their company. Running his gentle hands over the elk’s eyes, the king cleared them of dust and sleep, looking into the large thoughtful orbs that shone almost black in the still night. Smiling Thranduil pet the beast for a moment more and then sent it away, walking around it and down the rest of the narrow and twisting path and out onto flat land that stretched for miles. He moved slowly, letting his mind wonder far as he treaded closely along the rims of his territory, the wide and open plans visible to his elven eyes when he tilted his head to peek past twisting branches and thick leaves. It was tempting to venture further, the moonlight painted planes moving like waves of a white and silver ocean before him, the wind blowing sweet scents of lilies and berries into his nose. However no matter how tempting the grass ocean was, the king held fast to his ways. None would trespass in his wood without permission, and his people would not trespass on the planes without advising the inhabitants, including himself. 

 

However he did decide to walk to the very edge of the forest, and after short while, stalled at the tree line. The woodlands ended in a sudden stop while grass grew just outside of the branches shady reach. The king looked on, his keen eyes taking in the beauty around him, his eyes drinking in the new sights and the wonderful smells floated into his nose with the soft breeze. The land stretched far, mountains and smaller forest breaking the flat grasslands and scattered cottages. Dim lights from fading fires glowed weakly in a few, these new settlers having only been present for the last year, however they bothered no one, including the Mirkwood elves. However a few of the new cottages had children, young and curious, and Thranduil never scolded the guards when they kindly steered the silly younglings back home when they wondered too far into the woods. Children of man were something Thranduil never thought ill of. Children were children, and even Dwarf children, though they hardly looked as such, were welcome to his woods, along with their families, if they were behaved as well as their younglings.

 

However when they were grown, if he found they may threaten his people, they would be denied passage through his woods. He did not detest company, nor did his wish to close off his kingdom to the world. However the king of Mirkwood knew his people came first, and protecting his people meant shutting doors that at one time had been open. Men were easily swayed with greed and promises of power, Dwarfs were….well…..Dwarfs. Greedy, rude, loud, however they still had right to pass through his woods. Just not the bothersome company of three years ago, nor dangerous humans who had been lured by evil promises of power or riches if they upset the woodland realm. Thranduil knew Mirkwood had gained an unfriendly reputation over the years, but he had decided to try and atone for it. It was slow going, and he was dreadfully picky about who he allowed in his woods, but it was, for the most part, working in the woodland elves favor. Sighing softly Thranduil turned from the rich sight and made his way back home, the night fading away despite his internal protest. 

 

As he walked quietly he still thought, the king’s mind heavy with worries and simple wonderings. He let himself go blind to all around him as he thought, walking the path home by sheer instinct, the trails that wound through the forest implanted into his brain, into his very body, and his body could walk them with confidence while the king’s mind wondered. So lost was he in his thoughts that Thranduil failed to notice the shadows shift behind him. However only a second of blissful unawareness hung over him, his nose catching a scent that made him turn instantly and lash out knowingly. The Orc reeled back when the king’s foot connected with its chest. The creature went fumbling down the path and Thranduil ran up the closet tree, climbing it with swift ease and then taking off. Jumping between the branches and traveling through the canopy like a wild cat, easily maneuvering though the thick limbs and rustling leaves of his home. However he was an elf, and better than any cat he could run the forest braches. He ran not for fear of battling on his own, but for fear of what was happening in his city. He ran to find his guards, to find his people and rally those awake to combat this annoyance. Smelling the air around him and listening with his ears, he counted twenty of the disgusting mutants, 7 of which were on wargs. 

 

Growling low the king heard the forest wake, creaking and groaning at the disturbance, then fall silent when they became aware of the situation. He hurried through the trees, frowning deeply when the Orcs movements became silent. Refusing to stop Thranduil continued on, dropping from the trees and onto the ground when three more Orcs appeared in the canopy. The king wondered how they managed to slip into the woods unnoticed by all, however these Orcs were different from the fumbling idiots he was used to. They were attacking and fighting with intelligence, which most of those vile creatures lacked. They had set up an ambush, and for an Orc, had done so very well. These would have to be handled with care. Thranduil took off again, running as swift as the woodland deer and elk, dodging trees and leaping thick brush and briers. He dashed through the forest like lightening, however he heard the snorts and snarls of wargs close behind him. Upon looking up the king noted the Orcs following him through the trees, staying quiet and swift, not shouting out their war cries and ridiculous threats. They were hunting him and Thranduil knew then that this had been planned.

 

Why, he didn’t know, but he would make sure to leave one of them alive to find out. 

 

Thranduil was cut off along his path by another Orc, this time on a wretched warg, and was forced down another path. The new path lead him away from his palace and he knew right away that he was being herded straight into a trap. However even an elf of his skill and strength couldn’t fight a warg with no weapons and twenty something Orcs. The Orcs by themselves were no problem, however the fact that they had these four legged beast with them had made things very complicated. Growling low he let himself be run, having no other choice but to do so and prepare himself for when they tried to spring the trap. The king was run for what seemed like forever, even his immense stamina was giving way under the pressure of having to out sprint seven wargs. This pack of Orcs had planned this expertly and Thranduil knew they were not acting on their own, someone intelligent and far from Orc race was behind this. He wanted to know why his home had been the decided target of this silly attack, however the massive hound that jumped in front of him cut off his thoughts. Leaping into the air the elf flipped over the rider and steed, using the disgusting being under him as leverage. Placing his hands atop its head he used the Orc to push him completely over and away from the snapping warg, twisting the filthy head sharply before he let go of the grimy skull beneath his elegant hands.

 

The Orc went limp at the sharp ‘crack’ and the warg started to circle, trying to throw the dragging body from its back as it steered the hound in every direction it was not meant to go. Turning on his heel Thranduil started down an opposite path, one that would eventually take him to his palace, however his lungs were starting to burn and his muscle ache. He had been racing at full speed for too long and his body was going to give way soon. His mouth was dry and his eyes wide as he looked for further ambushes, for the shadows of the forest could be hiding much in their wake. Running down the trail Thranduil listened again, however the Orcs had shed their armor before entering the woods and there movements were dull, so much more quiet than usual. It made things difficult.

 

‘They did not do this on their own accord.’ He thought darkly.

 

The king was forced to twist around, barley avoiding a dagger that was thrown his way, his eyes narrowing in aggravation as he caught it. Spinning back around he hurled the knife back in the direction it had come, a guttural garble filling the air before the assassin fell from its hiding place. The dagger sticking out of it neck almost glittering in the moons bright light. Thranduil frowned and stalled, listening for the others. His scowl deepening when even his elven ears could not hear where his attackers were. With a growl he started back down the path, moving soundlessly and quickly, his blond hair flying about him as his moved. Blue eyes shined darkly in the ebony night and he scanned around him constantly looking for threats. His nerves remained on edge as he traveled, still unable to hear the Orcs. This was unheard for Orcs, the creatures never silent nor stealthy. They had no skill in stealth, in hunting the swiftest and most challenging prey. This new pack of Orc was dangerous, thoughtful, and well trained, he needed noise to track them, the forest having finally covered their wrenched scent. However the silence was suddenly broken, along with Tranduil’s thoughts, and to late did the king hear the sharp ‘twag’ of a bow. 

 

The elf stumbled and crashed into a tree when a short, thick arrow shot straight into his leg, going through his knee and tendon and stalling mid-way, sticking out evenly on both ends. He sucked in a breath and gritted his teeth, the warm blood running down his leg and soaking through his now dirty and tattered sleeping robe. The blood ran down and over his foot, between his toes, and onto the moss under his feet. The tree he leaned against creaked and groaned loudly, bewildered at the elf, worried for the gentle spirit.

 

At this, Thranduil was finally forced to stop and that is what brought the case to an end. He breathed heavily, the pain in his leg throbbing and the muscles twitched. His silken hair was tangled in his eyes, the sharp sapphire orbs glazed over in pain, his mind faltering. 

Then, a sharpness from no where. The king's eyes went wide, his breath stalling. 

It stung…..burned like lava, eating its way around the wound and up his chest, twisting and winding around his breast and burrowing thickly into his heart. It had been eons since he had felt the icy fire of an intruding blade. His abdomen contracted violently, muscles squeezing around the blade, desperately trying to push the foreign object out. His blazing blue eyes were wide, wide and confused and pained. His moon drenched body was pale and phantom like, making the blood that dripped from the corner of his mouth stand out in stark contrast.

 

Deep dark red lined on porcelain white.

 

Thranduil gritted his now pink stained teeth and fell to his knees, gasping at the heavy blade in his stomach and the twisted arrow now half broken in his knee. A wet cough bubble up from his throat and a thick glob of blood splattered to the soft woodland ground. His elven ears heard the trees protest, heard them cry out, for their king could not. The unsettled woods would wake his kingdom soon, their wails replacing the sweet song they had sung only an hour ago. No, his people would not rest tonight, the forest would not let them. 

 

Thranduil could only watch as an Orc walked up to him, snarling as it pulled its club back. As the weapon came back down, the king of Mirkwood was plunged into darkness.

 

~___0___~

 

Aragorn was ripped from his sleep when a scream echoed out around him. Sitting up with a gasp he looked around frantically, his knife drawn and at the ready. However when he glanced to Legolas the ranger stalled, shocked. Putting his dagger back away the human crawled clumsily over to Legolas, who had only managed to fall asleep a few hours ago, but now sat as straight as a tree, shaking like a leaf. His fair face was pale and sweating, fear painting his normally gentle and calm features.

 

“Mellonamin! Mani naa ta?” He spoke quickly, looking into his friends panicked eyes. “Legolas, please, what has happened?”

 

The elven prince turned to his friend disheveled and his voice trembling. “Ada, something has happened to Ada….”

 

 

~-----0-------~

(Do forgiven me if my Elvish is off, I do apologize. All credit for the help with my Elvish goes to this site- http://www.grey-company.org/Circle/language/phrase.htm- . It really is quite wonderful for learning a fair bit of Elvish  )  
Elven translation-  
Mellonamin- My friend  
Mani naa ta- What is it  
Ada- Father


	2. Waiting for Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually got the new chapter up on Friday!! I'm so proud of myself lol, I just worked on it between shifts and calls and I can't believe it is really up o Friday x)
> 
> But, as before, please forgive anything in grammar or spelling I have missed, I really do apologize. 
> 
> BUT now to the important stuff, this chapter was a challenge simply because it had to set so much in motion and in stone at the same time. I really hope I didn't rush it, or make it to slow. This was a head scratching chapter, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. I even got throw in some eye candy staring between the boys 8)

“Mellonamin, we must wait until dawn.” Aragorn said, his voice steady and stern. “These woods are dangerous at night, even for the two of us.”

Legolas stood in the light of flames, arms crossed and eyes blank, his mind elsewhere as the cracking and popping campfire danced before him, as if trying to ease the prince’s mind. His long blond hair was unbraided, setting much like his fathers, and his bright blue eyes had gone dark, glazed over with pain that was not his own. He knew, the young prince knew his father was ailed, burdened by something outside of his control. Legolas’s heart told him this was so, and the most important lesson his father had ever taught him was to never ignore the instincts of his heart.

“Legolas.” Aragorn spoke once again, biding his friend answer.

The elf looked up when he heard his name, Strider’s voice finally reaching his ears. “Yes? What is it?”

His voice seemed far away, as if coming out of a dream.

The ranger sighed softly and go to his feet. “We will begin our return to Mirkwood at dawns first light. This I promise you my friend. However you must rest, for there is a long road ahead.”

The ethereal elf looked to the human before him, his worry only half concealed and his bright eyes almost glowing in the deep blackness of the woodland night. 

“He is pained, Aragorn.” Legolas said, looking back to the fire, the heat giving him no warmth despite his closeness.

The fire painted his grey leggings and deep green tunic a heavy orange and searing yellow, the golden leaves embroidering the cloth shimmering against the licking flames. 

“I can feel it, it moves through my body like a poison, slow and creeping.” He said, his voice a darkened whisper. 

Aragorn looked with worry upon his comrade, they had been traveling day and night for three years, and they had grown to be close friends. The prince and his people had taken the ranger in as one of their own, teaching him their ways and most secret and sacred rights. Even Thranduil, the elven king rumored to despise man and any who dare trespass his woods, had kindly and warmly given him a home should he ever tire of traveling the wild lands of middle-earth. The thick and heavy forest of Mirkwood had become his home and the fair beings had become his family, for he had long had neither. 

“We will go to your father at dawns light. I promise you.” Aragorn said, placing a firm hand on his companions’ shoulder. “We will ride hard and will not stop.”

Legolas gave him a soft smile, it glowed with appreciation and gratitude.

“Diola lle, Mellonamin. Amin hiraetha ten amin kaure.” The prince said softly, mirroring Aragorn’s action and placing his hand upon the rangers shoulder.

Strider smiled sadly. “He is your father, Legolas, your fear is well placed. You’ve nothing to apologize for.” 

The elf returned the smile, bowing his head in thanks. 

~___0___~

He was on fire, burning, the liquid lava eating up his side and consuming him alive. Tearing at flesh and bone, leaving nothing but chard remains in its ravenous wake. All consuming, always hungry, an evil eye, wide and watchful, sneering with jagged teeth and spittle. A laughing, booming voice thundered down on him, his back arching at the crushing weight, pale blond hair spilled out around him in dirty water and mud, the cold stone, like ice against his backside, but did nothing to quell the raging fire within. Elegant nails dug into rock, scraping down into the stone, the nails breaking and chipping under the uncommon action. There would be nothing left of him, not if this unrelenting heat continued to envelope him, drowned him, eat him alive from the inside out. 

‘Wake, precious child of elven blood. Wake.’

Thranduil woke with a start, his eyes unfocused and confused, hair hanging in his dimly glowing eyes, blue sapphire shinning dully in the pitch black of this new abyss. Pain poured from his head, warmth running down his pale face, so etched in confusion it was, and the elf reached up a hand, bloodied from clawing so roughly at the ground. Gently touching his head, slender fingers gently traced a long gash upon his forehead that ran down to his eyebrow, slick and deep was the wound, dark blood clotting around the bloomed cut. It was a shocking contrast to his face, which now also bore the wrenched scar given from a dragon, a second of hot flame and ill-timed movement leaving forever a reminder of that black day. The great battles in the north, where dragons and evil of all kind had congregated, writhing and slithering together, like maggots reaching up and through the rotten meat and skin of their feast, squirming in the decay. 

Thranduil closed his eyes and ungracefully tried to get to his feet, clinging to the wall, slippery though it was. However upon trying to stand, the king gave a gasp and stumbled back down in a heap, trying to catch himself along the slimy stones and rusted circlets and chains along the surface. When he opened eyes he had not known were closed, he saw his pale hand before him, and felt as the other clutched at his abdomen, warmth oozing from ill placed bandages wrapped haphazardly around his waist and knee. The kings’ body trembled, shaking with weariness and an awful pain he had not felt in eons. His sleeping robe was intact, however the once fine and pristine cloth was now coated in mud and blood, the pale blue that settled so finely with his fair skin barely visible through the grime. The clothes were ripped and torn in many places, shredded for the most part by the thorns and briers of his woods, and the filthy claws of the veil Orcs. However as he thought about this, he took a deep breath through his nose and suddenly gaged. The smell….the smell was unimaginable. It smelt of rotten flesh, of stale air and of death. It stank and he felt the sudden urge to vomit, which only remained an urge for a few seconds more.

His abdomen contracted violently and Thranduil threw up all in his stomach, the food, wine, and blood splattering before him in a warm, watery liquid. After his stomach had emptied itself he breathed again, trying to catch his breath as his body began to ache beyond compare. The smell of his own bile was proving better than that of the dark and dank room he was currently in, and backing away from his mess he began to feel around. He crawled on hands and knees, dragging his right leg behind him carefully, trying not to agitate the wound in his knee, however he grimaced when the muscles pulled and fire shot up his leg. Catching his breath he continued to feel about him, the cold stone beneath him told him instantly that he was in a dungeon, black and sealed off from the world. The slimy ground beneath him was unforgiving and Thranduil frowned, somewhat worried what else he would discover in the darkness. The lack of light had not yet hindered his eyes, the gentle orbs etching out shapes and corners, jagged and chipped, moisture that had settled and collected in the chilly room glistening softly as it ran in solitary beauty of its own down the dirty walls.

The long floor was wide and uneven, sharp in some places and smooth as marble in others. Dirt, grime, and filthy water had settled on the floor, making a soupy mixture with whatever rot had been left in the wide, long room. Some buckets scattered about with broken chains and the ebony of dried blood splattered about. However, while his eyes saw the room and contents before, so dark and morbid they were, he knew if he did not see sunlight soon, the darkness enveloping him would begin to take its toll.

Both physically and mentally. 

Elves needed the light, they needed to see the sun rise in the morning and see it set at night. They needed the warmth and comfort that it wrapped around them during the day, cradling them in its gentle heat. The immortals needed to see the moon dance before them, to be painted in its silver rays and cooled by its lovely chill. They needed nature and all of its wonders, not the tomb he was currently entrapped in. Not this dungeon cell he had no way out of, cut off completely from the world, the fresh air….the gentle breeze. 

The king sighed heavily, stopping his exploration and leaning against the driest and cleanest wall he could find. Leaning his head back against the cool wall he breathed again, the air foul and rotten as it filled his lungs. Closing his eyes, the gentle shimmer of blue disappeared from the dark room, and Thranduil waited, for that was all the king was permitted to do.

~___0___~

The sun slipped through the trees early, Legolas standing by his ready horse and waiting, watching as the dark night turned pale, the sun chasing lazily chasing away the blackness. Aragorn finished saddling his horse, giving the beast a hardy pat on its thick neck, relishing in the silken softness of its flat sleek fur. Looking to the elf beside him the mortal’s eyes ran down the always clean clothes and rigid posture. The prince of Mirkwood was wound as tightly as his own bow, ready to let loose the second they mounted and began their long trek back to the woodland realm. Winding rivers and twisted trails were before them, long nights of travel with a promise of no rest awaited them, and the ranger knew Legolas would not stop, not for hellfire or brimstone. If his stead fell along the journey, the elf would run it the rest of the way without pause or hesitation. Strider let a melancholy smile stretch his dried lips. Even with elves, stoic and proud beings as they were, not even they could hide away the fear and anguish of a loved one in peril. 

Legolas placed eyes upon his friend, a quizzical look crossing his gentle face. 

“What troubles you my friend?” He asked, leading his horse with him as he approached the ranger.

Aragorn blinked, unaware of how sullen he looked. 

“Ah, it is nothing, simply a mortal man’s silly wonderings.” He said, pulling up and onto his horse. 

The animal cross stepped for a moment at the awkward weight, but stilled obediently when Aragorn give its reins a soft pull. The ranger’s horse was heavy, thick and well built. It was made for trekking, traveling and running. Its soft brown coat shined red in the sun, blazing like fire, shining and bright while its strength was unyielding. 

Legolas give his friend a mischievous grin, teeth white and lips smooth while his long pale hair framed his tender face. He seemed angelic in that moment, like a god from another world with this the ranger knew the elf was a gentle soul. Kind and pure and a piece of a world Aragorn would never truly know.

“A mortal mans’ wonders are what have kept me at your side, Mellonamin.” The elf hummed, like a sweet song bird of full summer.

Aragorn smiled wide, laughing, the sound deep and wonderful and so full of life Legolas couldn’t help but laugh back. Strider took comfort in the fact that his friend was willing to tease and joke. This fact cradled his fear for both Legolas and Thranduil, for if the prince’s unease had eased even this little bit, maybe, just maybe, everything would truly be alright. Legolas mounted his horse, sleek and thin, and like all elven horses, it was beautiful. Almost other worldly much like the elves themselves, the beast solid grey and back, an exquisite color pattering over its body, tail cut flat and even while its main hung low and free, softer than the finest silk.

The two gave the other one more grin, then with a kick of their heels and a click of the tongues, the horses took off. Their thick hooves kicked up the wet earth under them, leaving a thick wet cover behind them as they trotted off into the thick woods before them, the forest cradling around them and cutting them off from the rest of the world. The companions hurried, knowing they had many days and nights of riding ahead of them, and as Legolas thought of this, his stomach sank, twirling in a sickening flip-flop that set his mouth watering and his throat tight. He felt he could throw up, the unease of his fathers’ troubles having lessoned none throughout the night, in fact, they had only grown stronger. To heavy were they, weighing him down and making him sluggish, the weight of his fear heavier than physical obstacle.

As they rode they remained silent, the woods with which they traveled infested with evil. Creatures and Orcs alike lurked in this forest. Large predators and cunning humans hunted the area, and both elf and man were on the food chain. They rode hard and fast, unwilling to stop while they and their steads had the strength to keep going, the horses uneasy in the unnaturally silent forest. The beast were willing to gallop as long as their riders wished, knowing with their deep seated instincts that they were prey in this forest. They rode for some time, morning turning to day, which turned to evening, the sun turning brightest only hours before its descent. However as they rode Legolas held up his hand, pulling his beast to a stop and stalling the mortal man behind him, horses foaming and spitting, heaving air while they had the chance, their coats heavy with sweat which darkened their fair fur. Muddy hooves kneaded the ground under them, churning up the soil, roots, and moss, making a thick clay from motions which ceased to still despite their mounts protest. Aragorn rode up beside his companion, whispering lowly.

“What do you hear Mellonamin?” He said softly, pale black hair hanging in his eyes, weak curls resting against his tanned skin.

Legolas frowned subtly. “Someone approaches on horse, the beast is tired.” The elf said, cocking his head to the side and listening to the on-comer again. “The rider is tired.” He said, rushing his horse off of the messy path before them. 

The ranger followed suit, watching as Legolas leapt from his saddle and onto a close hanging branch. Climbing up and smoothly walking the vein and moss riddled limb he came to a stop near the end. Grabbing his bow he pulled an arrow from the slim quiver along his back, tracing the feather with ghosting finger tips. Readying his bow he waited, Aragorn preparing his own bow. They waited and listened, frowns deepening as the rider approached. These woods were disserted, apart from the dark beings that stalked the through the trees. No one dared enter these woods, for the odds of return were little, if not none. However the ranger and elf were skilled and combined they could trek the forest with ease, however caution was still exercised regardless of their experience.

They waited for, what seemed in their minds, a lifetime before the horse and rider finally appeared. However as Aragorn kept his bow tight and high, ready to let loose an arrow aimed at the strangers’ heart, he saw Legolas’s eyes grow wide. He watched in shock as the elf removed his arrow, letting the bow ease back into its natural posture. The prince jumped down from the tree, landing gracefully to the ground, his movements not even disturbing the soft and soupy earth under him. 

“Aaye!” The elf called out, the rider slowed instantly to a trot. 

As the rider approached within Aragorn’s eyesight, he saw the rider to be of elven blood. A fair and gentle face he had while his horse seemed like natures spirit itself, so ghost like it was in its divine beauty, much like its rider. 

“Aaya! Why do you come so far from home Aeroth?” Legolas said, his voice soft and troubled by this new development.

The elf pulled his horse to a halt, the beast dropping its head, exhausted. Aeroth breathed heavily, his bright green eyes weary. He bowed to his prince, watching as the other inclined his head gently.

“My prince, you must return home immediately. Per order of the council.” He said, straightening himself back up and letting his dark brown hair fall down his face and shoulders.

Legolas frowned darkly. “My companion and I were returning home, we began our journey at first light. What has happened for the council to send you so far from our woods?”

The ranger watched on, ice growing in his stomach as he leaned against his saddle. 

Aeroth looked to Legolas with sorrowful eyes. “My prince, it is your father. Our king has been taken, and we know not where or why!” He cried out, the elf in turmoil.

Strider watched as Legolas stepped back, his head lowering, his pale hair framing his face, cutting it off from view. He finally rode out and onto the path, his eyes locking with the unknown elf. He was shocked when the latter bowed to him, inclining his head deeply and holding out his arms, palms up, in a gesture of good will, just as he had done with his prince.

“Please do not bow to me, Mellonamin. Pray tell, what has happened to the good king?” The ranger asked.

Aeroth frowned deeply. “We do not know. Our forest is enraged, the trees screaming a tale we do not yet understand. Our border guards found signs of a chase and….” The younger elf stalled, looking to Legolas, who had risen his head and now stared at him with desperate eyes.

“Speak Aeroth, son of Mirkwood.” Aragorn said, his voice stern, but comforting. It bade him to answer, to finish this dark tale neither he nor his dear friend wished to hear. 

“Blood. Much of it. It was not of the enemy, I fear….it was our kings.” Aeroth said, his eyes returning to his prince.

Legolas growled, turning and mounting his horse, jumping it from its place and back onto the road.

“How can you be certain?” Aragorn asked, riding up to his friend, but continuing to look at Aeroth.

“Elven blood is different than any others. It is sweet smelling to our nose, like the flowers of first spring, frosted with winters’ last chill, and it makes the scent all the more heavy.” Legolas said, cutting Aeroth off. “Too humans and others alike, it is no different than any others blood. However to us, it is as different as sun and moon, day and night.”

Aeroth nodded, turning his horse around and they then began to walk, Aeroth treading back the way he had just rode. 

“The blood of my people has been split and these offenders dare to touch my father with their filthy hands.” Legolas hissed, rage shining in his darkening blue eyes. “I will see them all dead for this!” He spit, throwing his heels into his horse.

The beast gave a howl and took off, throwing up a trail of wet, thick mud after it. Strider and Aeroth rode after him, the ranger looking to the elf galloping beside him. 

“Tell me everything you have found.”

~___0____~

Thranduil did not move upon hearing the cellar door open, the loud stone and iron door scraping against the hard floor beneath him. The king simply sat and waited, his eyes half lidded and lucid. Not only smelling but feeling hot air rush around him he relaxed, fresh air is what he needed, the stench in this dungeon cell still had his stomach churning. He listened as an Orc made its way in, peering into the darkness, growling as its dull eyes scanned, for the king. Two Uruk-Hai waited outside, snipping and growling at each other. Thranduil smirked darkly, watching as the Orc entered completely, still looking blindly into the darkness. As it walked Thranduil soundlessly moved from his position on the wall, crouching like a wild cat, wounded leg carefully placed behind him and away from the weight of his own body. His long hair draped out before him, soaking in the dirty water of a grimy puddle, glimmering blue eyes watching the Orcs every move, waiting. The fool creature fumbled around, its eyes unable to define anything in the darkness, so in a unless attempt to accommodate the lack of sight, it held out its whip, using the long handle to feel what its eyes could not see. The king watched and waited ever patient and quiet despite his side bleeding once again, the movement and posture he now had taken wreaking havoc on the wound. But Thranduil remained silent, biting his tongue at the pain that boiled just under his skin.

The elf tensed when the Orc finally turned, taking a few steps back as it looked for Thranduil.

“Come out come out lil’ elf. Master wants to see his new pet.” The Orc cooed, a sneering tone to its wretched voice.

Thranduil stayed still, readying to pounce, and when the Orc finally turned back around, the king did. Shooting up from the ground the elf covered a great distance, leaping in front of the Orc and twisting it around, locking its slim and slimy neck in his arm, squeezing. The veil thing fought against him, gaping like a fish for air, it claws raking down Thranduils’ legs and ripping more of the cloth of his once pristine sleeping robe.

“Your master,” The king sang softly. “Will get to see me in his own good time.” He said grabbing and twisting its head, a loud crack resounding in the dungeon. 

He didn’t fight when two others jumbled in at the noise, Uruk-Hai were much more different than Orcs. These beast were cunning and strong. He wouldn’t risk further injury to himself by trying to battle the two of these. He would bide his time once again, for still, he had no other choice. Searing blue eyes turned toward the Uruk-Hai, halting them in their steps. They looked to each other, then back to the king, who stood stall and mincing in the blackness of the cell. After a moment of uncertainty they began their approach again, almost timidly wrapping heavy rope around his wrist and allowing him to come with them in stride and in his own good time. 

Thranduil was sullen faced as he walked with them, dirty and bloody was he, and his mood foul. He stepped unsteadily, his right leg aching as he tried his best to avoid putting any pressure on the wounded limb. He knew not who or what he was about to meet, however he calmly and stoically walked down the uneven and slippery stairs, his feet blackened with the grime of the dungeon corridor. The passageway was slim, forcing them to walk in a line, the king in the middle and the Uruk-Hai in front and behind, still weary of the prisoner they were forced to handle. Thranduil continued on, stalling some when he came to a large set of dilapidated doors. Time had taken its toll on them, rust eating away at the thick black metal, painted down the heavy doors like blood, the set spikes which upturned like a hook, waiting for the moment to impale, had been broken and chipped. Dust and sand blew past, the broken fortress falling apart, letting heat, cold, rain, and shine inside of its dark black walls. Dead limbs and rocks were scattered before him, almost seemingly thrown about to give it an even more abandoned look. As he got closer his insides turned, the hair on the back of his neck standing on edge. 

Thranduil stalled, but was forced to keep going by a shove and tug on the heavy rope, however every elven instincts within his body screamed at him to turn and run, an ancient evil resting behind the doors. It set his blood to ice and he backed away some, not having felt fear like this since the second age. The evil being behind those doors was far above him, and his dark energy crashed down on the king, strangling him. Thranduil was shoved again, the Uruk-Hai behind him striking him across the back of the head. Its armor ripping out a chunk of his hair as the silken strands tangled within it. The elf stumbled forward, dazed and blinking, trying to clear his sight. His eyes then turned soft and even, for in his heart surged a sudden pain, not from the wounds which sat deep in his body, but from a thought of what he may never see again. He thought of his beautiful forest, his home where the trees sang him to sleep and his people did their best to please him. He thought of the swift running river and the quiet winter nights. But more than anything, he thought of his child, so innocent and gentle, so keen and quick. His child……his sweet Legolas.

~-----0-----~

Elven Translations

 

Mellonamin- My Friend  
Diola lle, Mellonamin. Amin hiraetha ten amin kaure- Forgive me, my friend. I’m sorry for my fear.  
Aaye- Hail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really hope it was worth the wait, and once again, I apologize for the mistakes I missed. I try to get them all, but it gets hard lol  
> I really enjoyed playing with Thranduil in the chapter simply because he's in a place that goes against everything in him and his culture. It was really a fun experience playing with his mood and thoughts! xD
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! I'll try and post again soon, but I have no clue when it will be, hopefully not to long though!  
> And thanks so much for the support I've received from just my first chapter, I love you guys!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! I will get another up as soon as possible. Chapter length will vary and I have no clue as to how long this story will be. So, I hope you'll stick with me through it and hopefully the writers block will stay at bay! :D


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